


So Is The Life

by LeggoxMyxGreggo



Category: Fury(2014)
Genre: Drabble, Gen, Hop aboard the feel train
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-31
Packaged: 2018-03-04 04:26:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,845
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2933624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeggoxMyxGreggo/pseuds/LeggoxMyxGreggo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The past is what makes you who you are today.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Grady Travis

**Author's Note:**

> Oh boy. I stayed up until four am for ya'll, hope you're excited.

          **Grady was a good brother.**  
          The first time his little sisters come home, crying because someone mocked their dresses, Grady found the kid and roughed them up. The second time it was the kids best friend who had done it so Grady made a point with him to. By the end of the week, Grady had a black eye, bloody knuckles and his ears were ringing but his sisters weren't crying anymore. It was worth it.  
          Like he did every other Saturday, Grady walked his sisters to their dance class, usually watching out the window or running off down the street until they were done. Today though he was on a mission. As soon as he found out that his sisters had tried to convince their mom to take them out of class so they wouldn't be seen in their "stupid poofy skirts", Grady had made up his mind. He'd join to. The teacher was tentative but he was adamant and the next week, he was changing into the new clothes in the bathroom and his sisters were lacing the slippers.  
          They had thought he had been kidding about doing ballet with them but he was ever willing to do anything to see them happy. If it meant that he was wearing a stretchy skin suit (Missy would laugh and always correct him, "It's a leotard, silly.") and stupidly uncomfortable slippers, then that's what he would do. But as the weeks passed and he practiced with them in the kitchen, learning that there were muscles in his body he didn't know were there, he came to realize he kind of liked the dancing.  
          The first time Missy and Angel balanced perfectly on their toes with out help, Grady thought he was going to cry. When he did it, they both cried.  
          His brothers were always mocking him for his choice (except for little Jacob who was too little to understand why Andrew and Joseph thought it was funny) and he was pretty sure that his father had had a few choice words when he found out but he was more or less quiet about it now, understanding of why Grady had done it. Grady would do anything to make his sisters happy.

           **Grady tried to be the good example.**  
          Every morning since he could remember, Grady woke up before the light of first dawn, dressing with his older brothers and starting down to the barn with their father to let the animals out for the day and make sure they're properly cared for. Just like another day as soon as he heard Missy yelling with Angel about going to school, Grady finished his chores and quickly ran back to the house to see the two girls off and make sure his mom was doing okay today. She was ill more often than not these days but today she was dressed and gave him a big smile, talking about how nice it was of him to help. He cleans the dishes from breakfast as she gets Jacob ready for school and they're out the front door just as his father and older brothers were coming in.  
          Grady carries Jacob's back pack on his shoulder, talking to the boy about his new favorite animal (Grady doesn't make a comment about how it was always changing and that means its not his favorite) and making sure that he kept pace with his mom in case she took ill. He had dropped out of school almost more than a year ago, but he still made it a habit to walk Jacob every day.  
          He runs errands with his mom as the day wears on, letting his brothers learn more about the farm than he really wanted to know. He liked the mechanics, the cars and building, but not the how and why of the cows coming out every morning at the exact same time. That wasn't what he cared for. Instead, Grady would carry the groceries and follow obediently beside his mother as she continued with her own chores.  
          At the end of the day, with every thing put away and lunch long passed, Grady would go to the school and wait. He would wander around the block before maybe climbing a tree out front or looking in on one of his previous teachers whom he was okay with. As soon as the bell rang, Grady was right outside the front doors of Jacob's class, studiously waiting to walk him home. He listened as the youngest of the Travis' talked about what they had learned about numbers today. Reaching home, Grady would sit Jacob down to do his homework with a simple, "You need it more than I do" and go out to help his father bring in the animals. He just wanted his brother to have a good education even if he couldn't.

           **Grady constantly gave all that he had.**  
          When the talk of the war first began, Grady paid it no mind. It wasn't going to involve him. He would just keep on doing what he was, following his everyday routine. The draft came for Joseph first because he was the oldest and Grady sat in the barn so he didn't have to hear his mother cry. The letter was for Andrew next. Father was talking all the time about what the draft was and why it was happening, Andrew was proud to go. Grady took on extra chores, stopped going to the market as much, stopped walking Jacob to school everyday, quit ballet. He tried to be everything his brothers had in the hopes that he could help fill the new quiet in the house.  
          The office was unassuming enough but with all the people in there, there was no mistake what it was. Grady enlisted before a letter could be sent for him. He hid in the barn so his mother couldn't see him cry. The orders came soon enough, much too soon for him, and he refuses to meet anyone's eyes as he tells them what he did.  
          It was the sound of Jacob, Missy and Angel that followed him to boot camp, tank school and then to war. Sergeant Collier stared him down that first day and Grady sneered the way he remembered Joseph doing. He raised hell constantly as they traveled, laughing loudly and drinking all the time. Everyone thought he was an ass and he let them because reputation meant nothing when you were dead and he knew that's where he was headed. He would be shocked if he made it home. Boyd had been the one that gave him the news of his brothers and Grady hadn't spoke for nearly two days. They hadn't been close but it still hurt like hell. The first stop they made, everyone filed from the tank but Grady. He was thankful as he felt the tears well and he sobbed into his knees as he cried. A hand on his back made him jerk away and he turned quickly to see Sergeant Collier seated uncomfortable on the floor beside him. The tears were too much to stop now, even if he had actually tried and the other man seemed to understand as they sat in near silence, a hand resting on Grady's back the only form of comfort. He didn't fight as often after that, was more subdued though no less vulgar. He wasn't the same Grady as before the war but he was no longer his brothers shadow either.

 **Grady was still a good brother.**  
          The things that Grady did as he picked on Norman wasn't without a reason. The men didn't always know it but all that mattered was that Grady knew what he was doing. Norman reminded him so much of Jacob (and Missy and Angel at some moments too) that it was hard not to pick on him like he had the younger. It was more hands-on now though, smacking him or pushing him around. Grady liked to push Norman from under the tank as they slept sometimes (he would always pull him back in but the faces he would make were too amusing to stop) or sometimes he would stick his feet in the kids face as he stretched out in the basket of the tank.  
          The sergeants in the other tanks didn't like Norman much. Thought that he was too green or judged him based on his first kill with Don. Grady didn't like that much. If he had been judged based on anything he was like when he had first joined his tank, knowing already that he was going to be there, he wouldn't have a crew at all. It made Grady defensive hearing what the other men said about Norman and he tried to be sure the kid never heard it.  
          "The cocksucker doesn't belong here, should 'ave just left him behind." Grady tilts his head, trying to figure out who was talking. He pushes himself up to kneel from where he had been checking where they had taken some hits and looks up, checking that no one else was outside.  
          "We all know that but it's none of our business that they kept him. I wouldn't want him in my tank either way, I ain't say nothin' and jinx myself to get a green one too."  
          "He's gonna get someone else killed. How many have been his fault at this point?" That was more than enough to push Grady to stand, seeking the two that were talking. He doesn't even get out a word before his fist connects with the corporals jaw and it's like being home all over again. This time he was fighting for Norman instead of his sisters and by the end, his lip was bloody and there were new bruises, his knuckles hurt but he had gotten in more than enough punches before Boyd and Gordo had pulled him back that he thinks his point had been made. He sneers and licks his lips, turning quickly to seek out Norman's wide gaze.  
          "I'm good Boyd, 'm done." Pulling himself away he turns back to the two men that he had the 'altercation' with. He pushes Gordo away, getting in their faces, conscious of the two behind him. "If I was you, I wouldn' be talkin' bad about my crew. They ain't always gonna be 'round." He hated threatening his own men but he hated what they said about Norman more. He pushes the men away from him and turns, offering Boyd his most innocent smile as he wanders back to where he had been previously working. No one talks shit about his family while he can still do something about it.


	2. Gordo

          **Trini liked to think that he was a good son and brother.**  
          Trini got the nickname Gordo as a kid. He was always a bit heavier set (the neighbor called him pudgy) ever since he was young. It didn't bother him, not then and not even when he got to the states. He never told the Americans what it meant though, not trusting them to say it the same affectionate way that his mother did or with the same joking tone that his siblings had. He liked to joke that he was older, he got to be bigger than them if he wanted.  
          He came to the states with his father and two of the oldest of his younger siblings with the promise that they would be sending money home. They had never had much but they scraped together enough for the four of them. Life in America had started in Texas but with his fathers dreams of better for all of them, they quickly made way to Illinois.  
          People weren't always the most kind to his family. Trini was glad, as he started to learn english, that his father didn't know what was said about them all. It didn't stop him from teaching them all what he knew of English, what he was learning at least(and none of those slurs that he kept to himself, holding them close so his family wouldn't know the same shock of pain that he was starting to become numb to), and he worked hard on learning what they new as well.  
When his fathers work didn't bring in enough money for their small family, not with enough to set aside for those that still resided back home, Trini dropped out of what schooling he had been in, taking up odd jobs to help support his brothers before joining his father as a butcher. Every other month, they would count the money that they had set aside. Trini couldn't help feeling the pride at the sight of the pile growing thanks to his help.

          **Trini was a quick study.**  
          Learning was actually pretty fun when it doesn't include any insults. A lot of people didn't have patience for another language. It was a realization that had been pretty hard to come too, it made him try harder to learn though and he thought his broken English was more than passable. It didn't stay that way when he put aside his studies, not until his brothers taught him what they knew and what they would learn as they played about the streets with the other immigrant boys.  
          There was a nice little flower shop that he worked in for a while, put aside any pride to be able to help his father. He didn't expect much from it. There was a lovely lady there though, a pretty thing that made him forget any English that he actually knew, stuttering over his Spanish and tripping over his words. It made her giggle and Trini was sure that he was in love.  
          After a few weeks in the shop, he admitted to her that he had stopped his practicing when he stopped his classes. He never thought that anything would come of it. The day after, once he closed up, she stayed behind and just talked. The talks somehow turned into lessons and Trini would find himself sitting on the floor in the back, clumsy fingers clutching the pencil as he wrote the words she taught him. Trini was nearly fluent though he still fell back on his Spanish when he was riled or emotional.  
          "Gordo, gonna marry her?" Trini rolled his eyes as his brother joked and shook his head.  
          "Not marrying her, cabron." The annoyed noise that his father made at the curse always made Trini grin sheepishly, but he would quickly turn his attention to the boy in question. "She's a good girl, wouldn' marry someone named, Gordo."  
          "Called? Gordo's not your name." And maybe he didn't have a complete grasp of English.  
          "You know my meaning," He grumped, wandering off to look in the kitchen for what they could have for dinner. Maybe someday he would get the chance to marry her.

           **If anything, he could always be considered a hard worker.**  
          Trini hadn't joined the war of his own free will. Actually, it had been the last thing he wanted but with his brothers too young and his father too old, he should have known it was coming. He told his father not to tell anyone back home, not until he had already left at least because he knew, as soon as she found out, his mother would be on her way no matter what it took. It was horrible of him to ask of his father but Trini was sure he understood. He wrote the letter himself before he left, set it on the table already sealed. His mother deserved to see it in his writing, maybe something good could come from this. The only good thing that came from the draft so far was that sweet girl, Evelyn, gave him a kiss and a photo before he climbed on the bus that would take him away from his home away from home.  
          If anything, he will always say that he's earned everything he got, his rank, the respect he deserved from the men in the tank. It wasn't like him to just demand it and he didn't, no, he decided to be the best damn driver in the entire division. In the beginning, he kept his head down and worked like he was told. That lasted up until the first day he had to pull the trigger on another man. Boyd rubbed his back as he threw up behind the tank after the fight, didn't say nothin' but waited with him until he was a normal functioning member of the crew again and even then, he never said what happened. Rejoining the group, he just resumed his work as per usual, climbing into the tank and pulling his helmet on as Sergeant Collier started with the orders again. His stomach was still rolling and he could feel the sharp gaze of the gunner behind him but he didn't let it distract him from his job. It's what he was here to do anyways. Boyd didn't question his authority on things after that and the guys quickly followed.

        **In the quiet hours, Trini was an artist.**  
          Before, he didn't have the time to draw in his off time. He never really had off time. It didn't mean that his homework and miscellaneous papers weren't covered in doodles in the corners, the blank spaces filled. When they got to get comfortable in the tank or in a camp, Trini liked to pull out a blank book that he had found in one of the towns and curl up in a nook to sketch to his hearts desire. Grady and Red thought it was funny and after a while, Trini got tired of the teasing and stopped taking out the book or joking back. Grady got a strange look when he stopped joking with them about it, started getting on Red about it. When he found some pencils and charcoal shoved in an empty pack of lucky strikes, Trini knew that it was the boys way of apologizing. He left them sketches of their girls from the pictures in the tank as a thank you.  
          Getting a new kid, Trini had been worried that he would have to deal with the jokes again, not that he couldn't handle himself but he did get tired of them. But the kid was good, quiet and watching curiously the first time they got a quiet moment but he would likely be found out and about somewhere, hiding from the hulking form of the tank, Trini knew that Norman saw her as safety but not quite home just yet.  
          "How do you get it to do that?"  
          "Do wha'?" Trini looked up at Boyd, searching past the shine of his glasses for the man's eyes.  
          "The soft bit. How do ya get it like that?" Boyd's finger was light as he traced the picture on the part in question.  
          Trini smiles and nods, turning the page. "That's simple." He sits back on the crate, enjoying the chance to show someone something he was good at, one of the few things that he actually did for himself. He doesn't know when he ended up with the others around the fire with him asking questions and joking, Don laughing as he made them little cartoons and Trini was sure that Grady was going to piss himself he was laughing so hard.


	3. Boyd Swan

**Boyd was always good at reading people.**  
Going to church was never bothersome to Boyd. It was such a big part of his childhood and life growing up that it didn't make sense to hate it like some people did. To him church meant spending time with his family and community, spreading the word of God and just enjoying ones self. Boyd loved listening to his father preach, the man had a deep voice and a way of just captivating an entire room whether there were a hundred people or just one. It was fascinating and for as long as he could remember, Boyd wanted to be his father. To be able to hold someone's attention like that. His father loved to talk, no matter what the subject was, he had something to say about it. The man could talk about anything, Boyd was sure, and even if he didn't know, he would stop to listen and learn. "Knowledge and wisdom are the power that will support your weapon of the Lord's word. Remember that, Boyd. There's a difference between a preacher and a good preacher and that's what you know."  
When his mother died, Boyd didn't really think he got it. He knew she was gone, that God had her with him now but he didn't really think it clicked. Not until he saw his father sitting silent at the kitchen table, seeing beyond the words on the pages of the book in front of him and Boyd knew then that he really knew. He also knew that his father needed cheering up, that the last month there was no loud laughter, no ramblings or debates with those who sought his father. So Boyd did what his father would when he was upset and found his bible and his favorite book. With a determined set to his jaw, he set towards the study, not stopping until he stood right in front of his father.  
Boyd opens the bible, flipping the pages until he found what he wanted before pressing the book into his fathers hands and he backs up, taking a chair with him to stand on. Once he was around the counter, he pressed the chair against it and knelt on it, pretending the counter was his podium, that he was preaching like he saw his father do. The act made the man's lips twitch and Boyd knew he was right in doing this. ""And I heard a voice from heaven saying, "Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on." "Blessed indeed," says the Spirit, “that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!” Revelation 14:13 "" His voice was no where near as strong as the man's and for a moment he wavered as he fought to remember the words that he had heard for so long and read so many times but when he's not corrected and instead his father nods along, Boyd knows he was right and as he carried on talking, he no longer worried as he spoke. "So...what happens if you eat yeast and shoe polish?" He waits a beat. "You'll rise and shine!" His father laughs as Boyd cracks up at his own joke and he's glad that he had been right.

 **Boyd was a people person.**  
All his life, Boyd was surrounded by people. It was what he was used to and he doubted that he would actually trade it for anything in the world. He had little interest on the attention being on him but just the fact that he could wander and there would be someone with something new to talk about, he loved that. When his father was better after his mother passed, they moved into a smaller house, something for just the two of them. The smaller house also meant smaller town but Boyd was quick to make friends, his sense of humor quickly winning people over.  
There were kids that were older than him that lived on his road and they didn't seem to like him much. Boyd couldn't have any of that. He lacked the calm that his father had when someone had an issue with him, not afraid to get into a fight if he saw a reason. They approached him first as he waited for the bus into the city. He was comfortably seated on the bench, elbows balanced on his knees and his glasses perched on his nose as he read. The insults weren't anything he hadn't heard before and the most he did in reaction was close his book and look up.  
It was his sharp wit that saved him from a fight. Shocked the group into laughing and he was thankful he wouldn't have to return to his father to tell him about what had happened. Instead he went in to town as he had planned, grinning a bit as he thought of some of the things the guys had said. They were jokes that would offend his poor father but despite his religion, Boyd had always had a more vulgar sense of humor. Stuck where he was and with his plans to be a preaching man like his dad, Boyd doubted he would ever meet someone with that same sense of humor as him.

 **Teaching was always a passion that surprised him.**  
Boyd loved when he could just sit down and teach someone something, whether it was just something that he happened to know or about the good lord. It was something he remembered from his mother. She loved sitting down with him to help with his homework, patiently explaining things until he understood what was in front of him or waiting as he explained his reasoning behind his answers. It was his favorite memory, spending time with her at the dinner table or sometimes at the coffee table.  
One thing Boyd knew was that Grady wasn't stupid, it was something he and Don both agreed on. No, the guy just didn't think things the same way and didn't appear to have the same schooling as them. From what little he knew of the man, Boyd knows that he dropped out of school early for his family and he could respect that.  
"That ain't right." Boyd motions to the numbers on the scrap paper in front of Grady. They were working on estimations for the amount of gear needed tp get them to their next check point.  
"Yeah, it is. We burn out that copper at least twice every fuckin' eight miles. With this dust, it's gonna go faster."  
"Then why seven? It goes out twice every eight miles, right."  
Grady makes an annoyed sound, dropping the pencil on top the tank and steps out of Boyd's way. "Then fuckin' do it." He motions to the paper.  
Boyd sighs, looking at Don poking his head out of the tank. "No, Grady, c'mere." They had time. "I'm just saying, it goes out twice, yeah? So.." He leans against the tank as he calmly explains the work to Grady, smiling as the man started to catch on. The man definitely wasn't as stupid as he seemed. He watches as Grady looks over their problem, slowly working it out with Boyd's prompting.  
"So we want ten?"  
The gunner laughs, pleased, and pats Grady's shoulder. "Yeah, that's what we need." He raises his hand to grip the back of the man's neck. "That's good."

 **In the end, Boyd supposes he's the preacher he promised his father he'd be.**  
"Boyd! Sing that fuckin' hymn again." Gordo's shout makes Boyd chuckle. He had promised his father that someday he would be a preacher like him, that he would have people holding on to his every word like the mass did every Sunday. He never thought it would be like this though.  
"I don't wanna sing righ' now. Why you always want me to sing the hymn but you can't sit still for the lord's word, huh?" They were heathens, Boyd knew that but he couldn't help but love these boys. He was a preacher now, not the same kind that his father was but it gave him that same feeling of gratification that his father had had and that was more than enough for Boyd.  
"Shit, Boyd. If I wanted preachin' I'd read the fuckin' book, we don' got music no more though so that's why we like yer singin'." That was Grady rambling from under the tank and it made Boyd laugh.  
"I'm sure everyone's tired of me singing that same son-"  
"So sing a new one." Grady and Gordo both interrupt Boyd at the same time and he laughs again, rubbing his hand over his face. He wishes that he could remember the other hymns that he used to hear in church but it seemed like it was so far away now. "I ain't got no other ones."  
"Sing the damn hymn, Boyd. These boys'll drive you up a fuckin' wall if you don't. They'll drag Norman into it and he's got those eyes, no matter what you are going to sing that fucking song." Don leaned against the hatch and Boyd lifts his head to look up at him. He knew the man was right, they constantly had this argument and no matter what, it ended with him singing the hymn. Boyd looks from Don down to the tarp that Norman was seated on, checking the .50. The kid wasn't looking up just yet to utilize the puppy dog eyes that got him nearly anything he wanted from all of them and Boyd was thankful.  
With a sigh, Boyd looks at the sky before smiling and shrugging, starting to sing as he got back to his inventory. "On a hill..."


	4. Don Collier

**Don always had a way with words.**  
          The girls in town called him a sweet talker and after a while, they knew what he was trying to get from them and no matter how nice he let them down, they all talked and when they talked they avoided him. So he started going to the surrounding towns, using his best smile. He loved flirting and he loved the ladies just as much as they seemed to love him.   
          Don didn't just use his skill with the ladies. He tended to use it to convince his brother to go places with him, whether it was to the store or a few towns out. There were a few trips that he convinced him that going across the state would be some fun (it wasn't but it didn't stop his brother from hoping in the car with him the next time he asked). It was one of these surprise trips that Don found the woman he was going to marry, he knew it the moment he saw her. She was one of the most gorgeous girls he'd seen and she giggled at his accent as he spoke.   
          It wasn't long before they were going on a proper date and Don didn't even have any intention of sleeping with her though he wouldn't argue given the chance. He gave her a sweet kiss at the end of the night and his brother told him how happy the ladies would be to escape his affections. He hit the bastard.

 **He wouldn't consider himself a drunk but he loved the burn of alcohol.**  
          Don drank and he drank often. There were times that he drank until he wanted to fight but more often than not, he just just drank for the buzz. No one really liked when he drank too much, Rose complained about his violent behavior but she never actually tried to stop him. She only refused to kiss him. It didn't bother him enough that he stopped, if anything, he started to drink more.  
          His buddies started it. Said that they thought they could drink more than him and he took it for the challenge it was. Peters backed down when Don took a straight shot from the bottle of Jack before filling the shot glasses. They were all hammered before the end of the night and the morning started with Don nursing a black eye as Derek iced his knuckles. He doesn't remember the fight or what it had been about, the cloud of the alcohol enough to make him completely forget what had happened. There was blood on the floor of the kitchen and spread over the counter, he couldn't figure out the story behind that one either. Peters refused to talk to him after that night.

 **Don was, without a shadow of a doubt, a fighter.**  
          Alcohol didn't even have to burn his throat for Don to feel that urge to just knock someone out. He had control of himself so long as he hadn't been drinking. Much like drinking, he likes it but he doesn't need it. Oh does he like it. He and his brother knocked heads constantly, more often than not just because they could more than because of any real reason. At the end of the day, sober or not, Don would fight always for what he believed.   
          After losing Rose and Norman, Don stopped drinking. He did as he was told by the court and kept his head on straight and when he was told to go to war, he didn't even hesitate. This was his penance and he knew it as such.  
          Don is surprised when he gets along with his men to the point that he actually stands up for them. They would argue and joke but he never once wanted to knock one of them on their ass (outside of Grady but never with real menace). He keeps himself in check for the men all the way up until one of the krauts that they had presumed dead popped up to jump Boyd. He saw it from his perch on the tank and he was down and running before Grady ever got his legs stretched out. All he saw was red. A sound escapes him that can only be described as a snarl and his fist is colliding with the German's throat before he gets a good stance to actually beat the man. Boyd pulls him off, gives him a bloody smile and pushes him back with a shot to the krauts head. "It's alright." The reassurance from the gunner was enough to make Don straighten and he grabs his jacket to drag him back to the tank.

 **Don learned in the army how to care for his men.**  
          Before the war, Don hadn't watched over anyone like he watched over these men. He made sure they were fed, got any medications they needed if they needed any (Boyd always made sure they actually took them) and in general, he became Wardaddy. Norman joining the tank hurt something deep, not only had they lost a good man but this kid bore the same name as his brother. There was something about him that was different though, like he had no idea how the world actually worked but he tried so hard to act as though he knew.  
          They all took him under their wing in different ways and Don let them care for the kid, keeping an eye out from above. He kept him fed, pushing medicine towards him when he was getting sick and literally gave him the shirt from his back after a particular incident where a German managed to push him face down into a river in an attept to drown him and after the battle, he had had no spare clothes to change in to. With his shirt and an extra pair of Boyd's pants, the kid looked like he was playing dress up in his parents clothes.  
          "You sure you ain't got no fuckin' kids, Top?" Gordo was stretched out over the tank, foot braced against his hatch as they soaked up some much missed sun before they had to roll out again.  
          "Not at all." Don takes a drag of his cigarette, taking the moment to enjoy the fact that he would get this one to himself without Boyd and Grady nearby.  
          Gordo makes a small sound, watching some men march past before looking back down at the sketch book balanced in his lap. He speaks up again, "You seem like it sometimes, like a real dad, ya know?"  
          "Yeah, I know. You boys gave me the damn name and I can't go to the fuckin shitter without one of you calling out for 'Daddy'." Don laughs, grinning down at Grodo when he looks up at him before looking out for the boys again. "I've never had to look out for someone before and the people I shoulda looked out for, well I messed up real bad. Guess I just want to try and set things right with you all and get you through this."  
          "Top, between you an' Boyd, I think we'll all be fine." It was the first time in a while that Don knew that he could believe without a shadow of a doubt that Gordo was right and he nods.   
          "That's right." He pats the drivers shoulder in passing once he's out of the tank, making his way down to check on the drying clothes over the cannon. The shirt was dry but the pants were still too damp. Norman would have to suffer being in their clothes a little longer. He turns around just in time to catch sight of Norman tripping over the pants and laughs. If he had his way, Norman was going to be in those a little longer just for amusements sake. "Alright, kid?" He hides his smile behind his hand as he takes a drag of the cigarette, laughing again as he gets a dark look in response. "Me an' Grady are going to teach you to fight." He means the promise, knowing it would be good for all of them and he needed to know that they would be okay without him.


	5. Norman Ellison

**Norman could call himself a pianist.**  
Norman liked the piano. At least that what he told himself. He remembered when he used to hate it, sitting for hours and just plodding away at the keys and watching the notes blur in front of his eyes. The lady at the church liked it enough and wanted him to keep learning, his mother had been the same way but it didn't mean he liked it, especially not on hot days where he could be out playing with the other kids his age. They already didn't like him much as it was, thought he acted funny cause he didn't know a lot of what they were talking about.   
Piano took up a lot of his time during the day when he wasn't at school or the church or where ever his parents wanted him to be spending his time. He didn't often get much time alone. He was a easily frightened. Even when no one was home, if he was to be practicing, he would, he was nearly positive that his parents would know otherwise. He was sure that they knew his every movement, his every thought. So he kept his head down and plodded the keys, keeping his face blank so no one would know how little he actually liked this, so his father didn't know that he wasn't a perfect son.  
It was nearly ingrained in him that it was expected of him that he's to play the piano if there's one for him to play. He's shocked when he finds one during the war and with the way that Sergeant Collier reminded him so much of his father, he can't help thinking maybe it was what he should do, maybe he could smooth away what ever fuck ups he'd already made the same way he always did with his father. The look of shock on Sergeant Collier's face was pleasant enough but the proud look after he slept with Emma, that was better and made him feel better than any look his family had given him.

 **He knows he's not the best son.**  
The news of war brought with it the drafts. The kids he grew up with, many of them got theirs before he did, some of them bragged proudly as he passed but many just hid away. Norman was too young to be drafted at least he was during the early stages of the war, when he wasn't even sure that he wanted to. Norman hadn't even reached his eighteenth birthday when his mind hand been made up and he finds himself a office that looked something like a makeshift doctor, sitting on the bench as he waited to sign off on more paperwork.  
By the time there was a letter in the mail, his birthday was a week away. He holds the paperwork in his hands, flipping it over and over again , unable to believe that it really was happening, before he opened it with shaking hands. Dinner was always a silent affair but with the news that had come in that day, it was filled with yelling and Norman found himself walking down the street on his way to his aunts. It wasn't the first time that he left to stay with her but it was a strange feeling knowing that it was more than likely to be the last. This one was on the worst terms than any of the others with his family telling him he's no longer theirs, that he was thusly disowned for making this choice and risking his life (there were plenty of other choice words that had been used but Norman liked to think that they hadn't actually been meant).   
Norman was sure he had fucked up when he had refused to kill that Nazi, that the guys would drop him or kick him out of the tank. The last thing he expected was to be picked up and offered a place to sit, offered coffee and kind words (or as kind as those men could manage, Norman was sure). Sergeant Collier bringing him to the woman's home for breakfast, among other things, was the last thing he ever expected so much so that he doubted he could have come up with it if he tried and though the men were upset, they never once threatened to leave him. Sergeant Collier still griped the back of his neck and Boyd still patted his shoulder while Grady and Gordo joked with him.

 **One good thing that could be said, was that Norman was loyal.**  
In school, there was a kid who thought it was funny to push Norman into the wall or trip him up. Norman just let it slide, he was smaller than the kid with no knowledge of how to fight. The kid, Joel, wasn't only interested in picking on Norman, something he saw often as the kid pushed the others around. There were some things that Norman couldn't let slide and one day he hit Joel as hard as he could. Confronted by the principal with a black eye and Joel's lying mouth by his side, Norman did what he knew best. He told the truth. He told about what Joel did to the other kids, did to him and what lead to the fight, Joel deciding to lift Jenni's skirt. He had considered her a friend and after the fight, when he was no longer suspended, they spent their time together often after that.  
Norman had no idea what the sound was but as soon as the bombs started dropping, it was like his heart was in his throat and he had no idea what to do. A hand comes out of no where it felt like, dragging him down before shoving him under the tank and when he turns his head he sees Grady climbing down after him.   
"Put yer head down!" Grady's voice was like a whisper with the explosions around them and he barely registers what's said before his head is being pushed into the dirt. Grady's hand was heavy over the back of his head, body warm against his own as he pressed against him protectively. After it's passed and they've crawled out from under the tank, Norman tries to thank Grady only to be brushed off. It was barely hours later before Norman was sticking up for Grady against Boyd and Gordo's teasing and Grady's hand was firm against his shoulder in thanks.

 **Norman had a good conscience.**  
The army and war is all about order and following orders, there's always orders upon orders and that's why Norman didn't mind that he was the bottom of the chain because all he had to worry about was following those orders. He didn't have to worry about giving them, a small comfort but one none-the-less. After the Master Sergeant that sent him to the Fury, Norman wanted to just quit, no longer wanted to just follow the orders that were given to him (not if they ended him anywhere like this hell of a tank) but he was a coward. He continued following the orders he was given, it was easier than arguing. At least that's what he told himself, that's why he stayed.   
Norman hadn't wanted to kill anyone, it's why he had tried so hard not to go to an infantry position. All positions were in the field but he didn't want to try to fool himself into thinking that he could actually kill someone. He was positive that God had a fucked sense of humor at this point, putting him in the last place that he wanted to be. He refused the order to kill the Nazi, he had never refused an order before, not from a Private even but this was something he couldn't do. He couldn't kill a man who was so obviously trying to surrender despite the language barrier between them. Don pulled the trigger but it was a weight that Norman knows he will carry forever.  
Don told them to run, hide and take cover, leave him to die with his tank. Norman couldn't just leave him, he was scared, had been scared his entire time in the war but he couldn't in good conscience just leave the man to die alone with no chance of fighting back. So he climbs the tank, doesn't even pretend to know what he's doing beyond following his gut. It was the right thing, that's all he knew.  
With out any shadow of a doubt, Norman knew he had fucked up. He had fucked up by leaving Don in that tank and hiding, by letting his instinct to run cloud his head. Despite his conscience saying stay, every fiber of his being telling him to stay with his men, he gave in to habit and ran. His conscience was clean but knowing that he had lived while those good men had died, that he would be called a hero but they would just be a tragedy, his conscience was clean of the enemy but not his crew. He could see his men when he closed his eyes, the shrinking form of the tank. They refused to let him fight the rest of the war, sat him behind a desk with his type writer like he was trained. If it had been like this from the beginning, at least he would be okay but he knew, without a shadow of a doubt that it had been like this from the beginning that he wouldn't of met those men that deserved to be considered his family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Norman's chapter is a little different for a reason. He comes into Fury fresh-faced. We know that he's had a pretty alright life before, the war hasn't had it's chance to change him yet. It's the war and it's men that changes him into who he is after it.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm trying something a little new with this but hopefully I get my intention across.


End file.
